


Shards of Sin

by JackBivouac



Series: Rise of the Runelords [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Chair Bondage, Dogs, F/M, Femdom, Humiliation, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Other, Porn With Plot, Rape, Size Difference, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-07-12 19:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19951783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: New backstory oneshots deviating/derived from a Shattered Star campaign set in the world of Rise of the Runelords





	1. Son of a Bitch

Sila Heidmar was known to Magnimar’s blackmarket relic traders simply as the Collector. She employed a widely stretched, select few as her trusted informants concerning these relics and how she might acquire them.

“One of my informants here in the city, a fey-blooded dhampir named Nala Vancaskin, claimed to be on the verge of acquiring an artifact of ancient Thassilon and arranged a meeting with me three days ago. They never showed.”

“You believe they had a change of heart?” said the mercenary sipping tea across from her. 

The red-headed half-elf was Kora Meren, one of the city’s best. Her olive skin, marked with a tattoo for each of her kills, was a tapestry of ink.

“I do. Best case scenario, you find them and do whatever necessary to retrieve the relic in Nala’s possession. Worst case scenario, you bring me back their empty-handed corpse and I shell out for a necromancer.”

The two shared a morbid chuckle. Vier, Sila’s eighteen-year-old son, twisted his face into a silently mocking echo of their high and mighty laughter. The raven-haired, green-eyed twink took so closely after his mother that it might well have been her on the other side of the secret door.

His mother hadn’t explicitly forbidden him from the meeting, so he listened and watched from the manor’s combined library and study. With the meeting rapidly wrapping up, however, he decided it best to leave no trace of his still technically not-forbidden eavesdropping.

The boy tiptoed as fast as he could between the bookshelves. A shiny gleam arrested him by the last of the tables at the center of the room. Amidst the heavy tomes and drying scrolls sat an ornate, cubical stone coffer covered with runes.

He recognized them as the Thassilonian word for “cruel.” They were engraved upon slidable keys, meaning this was a puzzle box.

Vier glanced at the library/study’s official door. There were no high-heeled steps echoing down the hall’s wooden floorboards. He bit his lip and stepped beside the box.

“Touch.”

At the occultist’s object-reading touch, a shadowy vision of the puzzle box’s last user filled his mind. The murky figure rearranged the sliding keys so that the runes spelled the Thassilonian word for “lucre.” With that, the hazy vision faded.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Vier murmured, rearranging the keys himself.

The box opened with an unfortunate but not totally unexpected burst of light and sound. A yapping sound, to be precise.

The occultist jerked back from the relic, but it was far too late. 

Metal chains sprang from the box, knocking him down with the force of their ejection. They coiled tight around his limbs, lashing his arms together and his legs together, trussing him like a hunter’s captured deer.

The chains were followed by the spring of two three-foot, dog-faced gremlins. The pugwumpis growled hungrily at the boy’s predicament.

“Shhh! Shut up! Mom’s gonna hear you!” he hissed at the questionably sentient beasts.

The gremlins, clever only enough to manage ill intent, pounced upon their helpless prey. The first straddled his head. It shoved its small but knotted dick into Vier’s mouth, gagging all further protest.

The second ripped through the fabric of the Vier’s pants. It climbed to a mount on his narrow asscheeks and thrust the head of its canine cock into the boy’s virgin asshole.

Vier’s yelp was pounded into choked silence by the pugwumpi pistoning down his throat. He didn’t know if that was better or worse. And had no mental power left to decide as a hard, burning knot sudden split his anal walls.

Vier jerked and flailed in mindless pain, chains rattling against the floor. The coils maintained their iron grip, forcing his helpless body to take pound after pound in his knot-stuffed mouth and anus.

The brutal heat and rhythm were too much for his sensitive, virgin shafts. Vier’s throat and anal walls squeezed tight around the gremlins’ bestial dicks. The boy shuddered and moaned onto his gagging dick, his entire body wracking in back-arching orgasm.

The door swung open. 

“What in the Nine Hells…?!” 

His mother and the top killer mercenary in Magnimar walked in on Vier’s dog-faced rapists jizzing into his knotted throat and asshole. The boy, at the peak of his own orgasm, erupted into waves of burning shame and pleasure. And jizzed quite visibly in the crotch of his pants.

The half-elf barked with humiliating laughter. For Vier. She slashed through both gremlins’ necks with a single sweep of her bastard sword without ever having to draw the mithral aklys at her hip. Their heads rolled across the floor, bodies falling from the boy’s orifices still pumping cum.

Sila dropped her head into her perfectly manicured hands. “I’ve half a mind to disown you.”

“D-do it!” croaked Vier, blinking back tears in a face as red in shame as a ripe tomato.

The Collector raised her head, her face as perfect a porcelain mask as any of her precious relics. “For once, it seems, you’re right. Vier, you’re disowned. Work yourself out of those chains and make sure I never see your pathetic ass again.”

His mother walked away, taking her frozen fury with her. Kora lingered a second longer but only to let out a full-bellied laugh. The merc wiped her eyes and shook her head. She left the wriggling, red-faced boy to wonder just how fucked of a grave he’d just dug for himself.


	2. A Harrowing We Go

If Vier knew his mother, and he did, she wasn’t going to take him back with a peace token. A massive-ass peace token so big it shouldn’t rightly be called a “token.” Luckily, knowledge of exactly which token to broker with her had just eavesdropped into his hands. All’s left was to find the best finder in the city, the Amazing Zograthy.

Who also happened to be the downright filthiest. The diviner lived on Washers’ Row in poorest Magnimar. A tattered banner hanging over the entrance to the small side street advertised “Professor Calvario’s Stupendous Exhibition of the Outrageous and Sublime!” Beyond the suspect banner was a squalid setup consisting of little more than a series of rundown sideshow booths with assorted games and amusements of the meaner sort. 

To one side, urchins pitched pennies at lily pads floating in a scum-covered fountain under the stoned “watch” of a flea-bitten carny. As Vier passed by, the sound of hissing, fighting cats rose from behind a cart where a small crowd gathered with cheers and bets.

Faces pinched with suspicion or hunger lurked around every corner worn by carnival workers and visitors alike. It was not the sort of place to be careless with a coin pouch. Fortunate, then, that Vier had been disowned and bereft of the family funds.

“How do you like them apples, Mother,” he muttered under his breath.

He strode straight into a small, well-patched tent crudely painted with “mystical” symbols and decorated with chicken bones. At the center of the stuffy clutter was a table covered in blue velvet stitched with moons, stars, and pseudo-arcane gylphs. A dusty crystal ball and a dog-eared harrow deck sat upon it.

A bald but scraggly-bearded Varisian jumped in his seat at the table. Then relaxed at the sight of Vier. “Desna damn it, would you learn to knock?”

The Amazing Zograthy didn’t bother to hide his throbbing erection beneath the folds of his threadbare purple robes. In fact, Vier suspected that he sat back in his seat to make his dick all the more visible and thus drive the former Heidmar heir from the tent.

“I’m happy to see you too,” said Vier, waggling his eyebrows obstinately. He plopped down into the opposite but equally rickety chair. “Listen, I see you’ve got throbbing matters to attend to, so I’ll skip straight to the point: I’m looking for a fey-blooded dhampir, one Nala Vancaskin.”

“Ugh, fine. Ten gold, hand ‘em over.”

The boy’s grin grew ingratiatingly wide. “So here’s the thing, I...have temporarily misplaced all my available funds, emphasis on ‘temporarily.’ I’ll pay you back as soon as I’m back in the black, I swear it on Lady Luck’s own butterfly wings.”

Zog stared at him good and hard for a solid minute. It was only when a deviously white smile spread across his olive-skinned face that Vier’s palms began to sweat. “You want your dhampir so bad? Blow me.”

“Ah...is there literally anything else I can offer you? Slightly used, slightly warm shirt off my back, perhaps?”

Zog chopped both hands down toward his dick. “Before I die of blue balls, thanks.”

With a long, long groan, the twink slid off his chair and under the table. He crawled until his head was between Zog’s hair legs and closed his lips around the man’s dick.

Zog snickered and grabbed Vier’s head in both hands. He shoved the twink’s mouth to the base of his cock, his head slamming the back of Vier’s throat.

The twink snorted, eyes watering as he choked around the dick pounding him in the sphincter of his throat. Zog, risen in his seat, only pistoned harder into his helpless mouth.

Vier squealed through his nose as Zog’s dick rammed into a cluster of nerves. His throat clenched shut around the man’s cock, squeezing and wringing the first burst of cum from its throbbing head.

Zog groaned, fingers knotting in Vier’s hair as he forced the twink to swallow every drop. Finally, he let the boy go.

Vier crawled back to his seat, coughing and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Quick, before we have look at each other in awkward silence,” he rasped.

The diviner snickered and shuffled his deck. It was the only real artifact in the entire tent; Vier knew, he’d touched everything here. All the rest of the clutter was purely for client reassurance. After all, who’d believe a card-reader in a posh cafe?

“Well that’s not good,” said Zog, laying down the Avalanche. “Your dhampir’s imprisoned.”

He drew the Tyrant. “And enslaved. By…”

The Beating. “Ouch, the Tower Girls.”

Vier winced sympathetically. “Anything else I should know?”

Zog scooped up the cards and shuffled his deck. This time, he laid out the Courtesan. “That’s you.”

He drew a second card, frowning. The diviner laid out a second Courtesan card. “You’re going to come in contact with an intelligent item.”

Before Vier could make a smart remark about his divination representation, Zog drew the final card, the Eclipse. The diviner’s piercing black eyes met his. To urge caution would be a moot point.


	3. The Twink and the Twunk

The Tower Girls were the strongest, most notorious branch of Scarzni crime families in Magnimar. But that strength also made them extremely cocky. As a result, their headquarters were common knowledge among the street-savvy.

Vier had no trouble finding Underbridge, the abandoned tenement building where they holed up. Its clapboard sides were dark with mildew and marred by scorch marks. Fire had gutted portions of the roof’s tile shingles, but the building was otherwise structurally intact.

He watched the comings and goings at Underbridge until nightfall. With the majority of the Tower Girls being human, he had the advantage in darkness. 

The occultist centered his mental focus on the kikko armor he wore beneath his cloak and the elven curve blade on his back. Both were relics “borrowed” from his mother’s collection. The psychic touch stirred their latent powers to life, one of which provided Vier with darkvision. The effect, however, wouldn’t last long.

From the hours of observation, he deduced that the Tower Girls kept their prisoner in the attic with its sections of collapsed roof tiles. There seemed little other reason to go there with a food bowl and water bucket.

Vier climbed as quickly and as quietly as he could up a trellis along the side of the house, its frame wrapped with dead, dry vines that nearly gave him a heart attack every time they crunched underfoot. Thankfully, the trellis took him all the way to the attic. The occultist peered through the grimy window with his temporary darkvision.

His jaw fall agape. There in the attic, a wererat woman was riding the most resplendent twunk Vier had ever seen.

Nala Vancaskin, for it could only have been the fey-blooded dhampir, was a lean, moonlight pale youth. They had amber eyes and teal hair that fell in thick waves to their shoulders. They were also bound naked to a chair, arms strapped to the armrests and calves strapped to the legs.

The wererat woman bounced on Nala’s dick, squealing and moaning like a true rodent in heat. She bit their throat as her pussy clenched tight around their impaling cock, raking her nails down the dhampir’s back as her own back arched in orgasm.

Her tail, stuffed in Nala’s anus, wriggled wildly as she bucked and ground her squeezing cunt deeper onto the dhampir’s cock. Nala grunted, bound and utterly helpless as the wererat’s pussy wrang the seed from their dick. She milked them for every last drop.

The wererat finally staggered off the restrained dhampir’s lap, leaking their cum between her furry legs. Her tail whipped across their nipples in a parting lash. She laughed at their wince and left, locking the door behind her.

With three minutes of power remaining, Vier had to act fast. He wrapped himself with his cloak and rolled into the attic through a broken window. Glass tinkled to the floor, breaking Nala from their stupor and drawing a shout from down the stairs.

“Wh-who…?”

“No time!” Vier tried not to scream through his teeth. He slashed through the straps binding the dhampir and yanked them out of the chair. “Where’s your stuff?”

Footsteps marched up the rickety wooden stairs below. Nala, however, found time to freeze and narrow their perfect amber eyes. “They took it! They took my shard! They sold…!”

Vier clapped a hand over the dhampir’s mouth. “Great that you’ve got your spirit back, but we’ve got to…”

“Hey you! That’s our cockslave!” the wererat shouted from the doorway. And immediately flung two daggers at Vier.

Sixty seconds. The wererat watched in shock as the elven blade blurred to life in the occultist’s hands, sending either dagger clanging in opposite directions. One buried into the wall, hilt quivering. The other shattered through another window.

Vier grabbed Nala’s shoulder. “Out, out, out!”

Nala grabbed their pack in the corner as the boy pulled them to the first broken window. The wererat grabbed the other strap of their pack.

“I don’t think so, cockslave!”

Ten seconds. Vier swung the sword with the deftness of its former, much more talented wielders. The blade flashed in a steel arc that bypassed Nala to sever the wererat’s head from her shoulders.

Zero. The last clear image in the occultist’s head was the dhampir’s look of shock, mirrored by that on the severed head. Then everything fell into the usual darkness.

Vier climbed out the window. Crossbow bolts thunked into the surrounding wood. “Fuck!”

“Jump!” said Nala, giving him a helpful push from behind.

Vier fell with a scream. Only to find himself feather-falling under the dhampir’s arm, crossbow bolts whizzing past. Despite the cover of darkness, several found their mark, tearing chunks of flesh from the pair.

Vier and Nala stifled their cries. They tumbled safely to the ground and took off down the streets of Magnimar until they’d finally outrun all sounds of pursuit.


	4. Shards of a Feather

Vier and Nala took shelter in a narrow alley heavy with shadows from the many lines of laundry hanging above. The boy leaned against the grimy brick wall, keeping his eyes on the street beyond while the rescued dhampir retrieved their gear and arms from their pack.

“So...your name’s really Nala, huh?” Vier asked quietly, giving the unreasonable attractive twunk a quick glance. He was only slightly disappointed that Nala had managed to clothe themself. Neither garments nor armor could conceal the dhampir’s fit frame.

“...no. It’s an abbreviation,” Nala answered, shouldering their pack.

“Woah, hey, where are you going?”

“I have to get my shard back. The Tower Girls sold it to the highest bidder, Dr. Khrym.”

The name meant nothing to Vier, but that shard meant everything to his mother. “Let me help you.”

Nala turned to give Vier their full attention. Their narrowed amber eyes glinted in the moonlight as they appraised the human youth. “Would it change your mind to learn Dr. Khrym keeps their lab in the sewers?”

“H-ha, no,” Vier lied through smiling teeth.

“Then we should go at once. Follow me.”

#*#*#*#*

The scarf pilfered off a laundry line did nothing to stop the stench of the sewers from flooding into Vier’s nose and mouth. After an hour of sodden trekking through the reeking, sweltering bowels of Magnimar, the burn in his eyes, nose, mouth, and throat lessened. Somewhat.

Nala, seemingly immune, held a hand for a stop. Vier raised his weary, sweat-plastered head.

A massive pair of double doors had been crammed into the sewer wall. They were much nicer than anything Vier had expected to see here, made of a silvery metal engraved with images of burning eyes that looked inward toward two sets of runes carved onto the face of each door. The boy’s own eyes widened.

“Thassilonian…!”

He stepped around Nala, frowning at the runes, and placed a hand on either set. A shadowy vision filled the occultist’s mind. He moved his fingers in tandem with the doors’ memory of the last user, spelling out the words “silent” and “they see.”

There was a dull, heavy clunk from within the metal. The doors swung inward and open at the slightest touch.

“Nala, I don’t think we’re in the sewers anymore.”

Two huge pillars stood at the northern and southern ends of the vast stone hall within. The first was carved in the image of a woman wielding a ranseur. The second depicted seven robed men and women, their features eroded with the years. Each held one segment of a seven-pointed star.

“Holy shit, those are the Runelords of Thassilon! We-we’re in a ruin of the ancient empire!”

“Not important,” Nala muttered, sniffing the air. They pointed a finger down the southern tunnel. “The lab’s that way.” 

The dhampir took off at a silent, loping jog like a hunting dog. Vier’s fingers itched to explore every inch of the hall, but he would definitely lose track of Nala if he did. With a grumbled curse, he jogged after the dhampir.

Nala slowed to a soundless creep outside a doorway covered by thick rubber curtains. They drew a mithril short sword in one hand, prompting Vier to draw his own, borrowed blade. The dhampir parted the curtain with the tip of their sword.

Unexpectedly golden light shone through the crack. Vier's curiosity subsumed his caution, and he peered around Nala's shoulder.

The light came from crystals growing from the domed ceiling. Stone tables lined the sides of the room topped with battered iron cages, many of which held the gristly remains of once living occupants.

Against the far wall was an altar shaped like a seven-pointed star. Sitting in two of the star’s arms was a shard of black metal and a shard of copper.

“Those are definitely cursed," whispered Vier, his skin prickling to the point of prying itself off his body. "I can feel the curse from all the way over here."

Nala, however, was immune to both the words and sensation. They walked heedlessly toward the incomplete star like a fish toward a lure.

“Nala!” Vier hissed. He grabbed at the dhampir’s arm only to be batted aside.

“Stop, thieves!”

The pair jerked their heads toward the commanding voice. A blue-skinned derro woman in a labcoat stood at the other end of the altar room/laboratory. Despite her short, three-foot stature, the half-formed flesh golems beside her and the bomb in her hands rendered her suitably intimidating.

Vier raised his hands. “Dr. Khrym, I presume? Hi, we’re just here to pick up a shard that’s been sold to you by mistake. It never should’ve been put on the market…”

“Shut up!” snapped the doctor.

In her split second of distraction, Nala threw themself at the altar, snatching both shards out of the star. Dr. Khrym screamed in Aklo. The fleshdregs charged, spreading wide jagged maws across their bulbous, veiny heads.

Vier also screamed. He ran through the leather curtain, all schemes forgotten. Nala sprinted out after him, spinning here and there to cast back a snapping fleshdreg with the business edge of their blade.

They scrambled through the halls of the ruin, the golems hard on their heels. A fell whistle pierced the air. The doctor’s bomb. Vier retained just enough sense to throw himself into Nala, bowling them over and around the bend of a corridor.

The hall exploded behind them, stone shrapnel beating and tearing into their backs. A wall of rubble collapsed with an earthshaking roar. The fleshdregs were caught beneath its stony tide.

The ruins settled into dust and silence. Vier and Nala pushed up onto scraped hands and knees.

“You ok?” the boy coughed, brushing off debris.

The dhampir nodded numbly. Their amber eyes were transfixed by the metal glinting between the cracks of one fist. They spoke so softly that at first Vier had no idea what they’d said.

But the words returned like an unshakable curse, freezing the boy’s blood in his veins.

“There are five more. They want to be found.”


End file.
